The Meeting
by LizzieCharley
Summary: My version of Bucky and Steve's first meeting on the playground of their school in Brooklyn. The start of everything. Fluff pretty much :)


Schoolyard 1924-

'Y'wanna play?' The traditional age old post-summer friendship renewal ritual rang all across the yard. In this particular case, it was directed at James Buchanan Barnes, a small boy with a very large name which was utterly unpronounceable for most of his classmates. Hence he'd ended up with the nickname 'Bucky', which both his sisters and peers could pronounce with their Brooklyn drawls. Like most of the boys after ten minutes of recess, he was scruff, the mop of tousled dark hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes glinting with enjoyment and mischief. Another plan lurked there, on the horizon, another idea to get either his friends or himself into trouble.

'Sure!' Bucky yelled in response to his fellow second graders, sprinting to join the motley group of fifteen or so whom he hung around with. A semi-deflated soccer ball was produced, and then that part of the yard seemed to magically become a brand-new state-of-the-art pitch.

Through eyes not enhanced by the rosy tint of childhood, or the wonderful post-war optimism of the '20s, the yard was nothing to write home about. It was a scrap of badly tarmacked land, much too small for the crowd of children using it and situated between soot blackened originally red-bricked apartment blocks. Most of the kids at the school lived, plated, laughed, joked, cried and spent all their time in those blocks. Most planned to leave, most wouldn't. Secretly, a lot of them, at that point at least, didn't really want to go, despite their blustering to the contrary. They knew everyone in their block, they had an extended family who they'd never truly leave behind. The boys of each block had known each other for most of their lives, and always grouped together, along with those of the neighbouring blocks. Like brothers, like Bucky's group.

There were plenty of negatives though, which negated the community spirit, for example the height of the all-too-close surrounding blocks. Unless the sun was positioned just so, the rare commodity of sunlight never reached the tarmac. Rickets was a major problem and many of the children in that part of the city weren't as tall or as fast as some of their richer brethren. They couldn't run as fast through the dust and soot. They rarely got a decent meal and most were gaunt, but still they laughed and played and tried.

As for the school buildings themselves, they were almost indistinguishable from the blocks around them.

'Pass!'

'He's gonna score- stop him!'

'Goal!'

'No! Cheat!'

'Liar!'

The usual first day of term fun.

'Oi! Look. Here come the babies! Awwh!' A snot of laughter from the current goalie. Bucky grinned. _Good try. We're not gonna forget that terrible save that easily though._

The brand-new cohort of first graders were making their way out of their classroom onto the playground. To be fair, they were only slightly smaller than most of the other kids, but their apprehensive expression marked them out from the crowd. Made them distinguishable. Made them targets. Especially since the first grade teacher had gone to get coffee and the school ma'am on duty wasn't paying much attention to them. She was too busy tending to a tearful older boy with a scraped knee and eventually leading him off to find a bandage.

Everything was as per usual … until it wasn't. As in every school, there was the bully. In this case it was a massive fifth grader called Thomas 'Tommy' McColley. He was already approaching six foot and, unlike most of his compatriots, had clearly been well fed. All the older kids, Bucky and co included, had quickly (in most cases within their first year at the school) learnt to keep out of his way. And, of course, and over lunch immediately if asked. Then, and only then, would you not get beaten by him and his already forming gang.

The newbie six-year-olds, however, knew nothing of this, especially if they didn't have older siblings already in attendance. They formed small groups, staring shyly from each other to the ground and back. Some beginning to start tentative games or conversations.

'How long d'ya give them?' One of Bucky's friends, another James, red-haired and freckled, muttered as he made a shameful attempt to pass to another boy. Peter.

'Dunno. Tommy's already on the lookout. Hey- foul!'

Although pretending not to, most of the children were watching Tommy's progress with a scared, morbid curiosity. It kept the older children sending regular, semi-concealed side glances at Tommy and the new kids. There was a collective wince when Tommy and his thug-friends Danny and Mick sidled up to one of the little ones. Today's victim, no, willing lunch donor, was a small girl in an unusually (for that area) brightly coloured pink gingham dress. She was pretty in a plump, almost cherubic way with blue eyes and soft brown curls done up in pigtails. Her family were clearly doing alright, that was clear to see from her cheeks.

The football game was slowly being forgotten. 'That's low.' Another boy, Charlie, muttered to Bucky and the other second grade boys in general as they observed the spectacle before them. Games were being paused all across the yard. They were all watching, some with glee, others with disgust, but most with complete neutrality. This happened every day. They were used to it.

Peter poked Charlie in the ribs, hard. 'Shuddup. Ya want him to come over here. If so jus' carry on speakin'.'

Charlie did, but quieter. 'I think she's in my block. Somethin' like Lucille Burrows maybe. Her an' her folks just come up from Oklahoma or summat. Momma says 'purtunities is better in New York.'

'Yeah, sure. 'Purtunities to get beat.' Chuckles emerged from most of the footballers. Not Bucky, though, he was still standing, watching in silence.

'Newbie t'city 'n school 'n no older siblings. Uh oh.'

The unfortunate Lucille was oblivious to her classmates' sympathetic, worried glances, and the way most of the other kids seemed to have backed away from her, leaving a clear space. She was busy poking around in her lunch bag, focused completely on that. In the opinion of many in the yard she was nigh on asking for what happened next. Some vocalised that view- 'Well, serves her right. Comin' on in with a lunch that big. An' look how plump she is an' all.'

A few of them were more sympathetic. 'Don't deserve Tommy tho'. Don't no-one deserve Tommy.'

Bucky firmly directed his gaze from the unfolding lunch removal to where his friends were attempting to re-start their soccer game, the incident in their mind being already complete. They already knew the outcome so it wasn't worth the upset of watching. That's why Bucky re-joined them. He didn't watch this, couldn't watch this. It wasn't right. But it was reality and it wasn't as if he could do anything. And if she was dozy enough not to realise what was happening. Well …

'Oi! You!' _Oh no_ 'Pigtails! Yeah, you!' She'd realised now alright. She had no siblings to attempt to protect or advise her so she merely took an ineffectual step backwards, pink sandals scuffing on the tarmac.

'Hand over the lunch.'

'But … 's mind. My momma made it … Please …' Whatever small town she'd come from clearly hadn't prepared her for the reality of living in a poor district of the big city. And the twanging of her voice only made things worse.

'Okie! Dirty Okie! Hand it over or else!' Tommy's voice offered no alternative as he loomed over her. Other kids were taking up the chant of 'Okie!' gleefully and the girl looked as though she was willing the ground to swallow her. Tears started to well as she realised that, despite the crowd, she was completely alone. They marred her blue eyes and caused her face to take on a blotchy red quality.

''k.' She moaned, defeated. She gave one final desperate look around for help. Any help. None was forthcoming. No one would even meet her searching eyes. Tears now hit the dirt as she handed the brown paper bag over. It was small, pathetic, but much bigger than those belonging to most of the children; if they had one at all. There was little sympathy from those gaunt faces. Except one.

The crown of schoolchildren, who had given up the pretence of playing to watch, parted in shock as another of the newbies marched towards Lucille and Tommy. One look at the boy caused Bucky to grimace, and then yelp in pain as the soccer ball collided with his skull. He should have been paying attention but again some morbid curiosity, like that which causes people to slow down to look at car or train crashes, caused him to take a second look. That one look was all it took to make him wonder whether or not he should start a whip-round to get money for the kid's funeral. He couldn't take on Tommy. He couldn't think that … surely. But apparently he did.

The boy was truly tiny. All sickly pale skin and bones. And he was quite possibly the smallest child on the playground, and the skinniest. Blue eyes were filled with self-righteous anger; skinny chest puffed out, although it did nothing but perhaps make him look even smaller. The boy's corn blond hair was perfectly swept back. Even his white shirt was tucked in, a rarity amongst the boys. The blonde's brown slacks, which were too big and hung awkwardly off his bones, were patched; but that was the only concession he made to the neighbourhood he lived in.

 _Utter nut case,_ thought Bucky, _looks as though a gust of wind will blow him away._ Bucky's group had granted the ragged football a reprieve in the heat and tension now permeating the yard. They were watching, waiting with the excited trepidation usually associated with the presence of angry purple storm clouds on the horizon and thunder in the wind.

'Candy bar the kid's gonna get his ass kicked into next week.' Charlie again. _No one's gonna bet that, idiot. Course he's gonna have his ass handed to him- no question._ Part of Bucky felt sorry, bad even. Perhaps he- no. His momma would kill him if he did.

Amazingly, the boy was still walking towards Tommy, limping slightly, Bucky noticed. 'Buck.' Ernest tapped his shoulder. 'That kid's in m'buildin'. 'S ma works in the hospital, TB ward I think. Dad killed in the trenches, my momma said. Barely even seen him, even tho' they've lived in there his whole life. 'S always sick, y'see. Asthma, back, dicky heart, palp'tations, pneumonia every year like clockwork, the works. What's he thinkin'?!' Now there was a statement Bucky himself agreed with, why would you take on someone like Tommy if you were sick. _Poor kid,_ his seven-year-old experience chided him following that thought, _if he wants to get punched, that's his deal._

'What ya doin'? Takin' a dame's lunch?' High pitched, shaky yet determined, Bucky noticed. It didn't exactly reassure the onlookers as to the kid's chances, which they already thought, no, knew, were minimal. _Almost like he enjoyed being punched._

'Ya stoppin' me?' Even Tommy looked stunned that this kid would try to take him on, and that was saying something as Tommy was damn near unshakeable. Although, sickeningly the look of shock on his face at the boy's determination was rapidly changing to a gleeful smirk; that of anticipation of a good game about to begin.

'I'm warnin' ya.' The boy said, steel amongst the slight quivering. Not a hint of fear, though, just of frailty; though Bucky had a feeling that if he had asked the boy, he wouldn't in a million years have admitted how delicate he appeared to be. 'Jus' give it back t'her.'

Tommy had a full on grin now. 'Nah, don' think I will. What ya gonna do 'bout it?' A challenge. _Please don't. Please._ Bucky had no idea why he was so bothered by the forthcoming beating. It was the kid's choice, after all.

The smaller boy seemed to consider Tommy's statement for a moment, and all the assembled children held their breaths. _Where's miss when ya need her?_

'Either that kid has hidden talents of this gonna be painful.' Someone said and murmurs of general assent were heard.

Painful it was, the blond boy bravely, stubbornly, tried to throw a right at the larger one. He clearly hadn't yet learnt, or been taught, how to fight properly as his balance was clearly off meaning he didn't succeed in putting even his limited weight behind the blow. He overbalanced, wind-milled for an agonising moment, then fell flat on his face. Laughter rang out.

 _Stay down, kid,_ Bucky willed again, _please._ He didn't see any blood, but knew he would if that kid managed to regain his feet. Clearly, in Bucky's mind, either the boy was really brave or really stupid. Or both. Probably both. However, he clearly wasn't telepathic as he struggled to his feet, his breath beginning to wheeze slightly.

'Ya don't know when t'give up? Do ya?' The boy straightened up, squaring his shoulders and looked Tommy straight in the eye, still defiant.

'I could do this all day.'

That stupid, courageous statement was Bucky's final straw. Yeah, the kid was a stupid punk, but a brave one. He had to do something. Feet almost acting of their own accord, and still not entirely sure what he was doing was a good idea, he leapt forward across the yard. His classmates jumped out of his way, their gobsmacked expressions melding into one. _What am I doing?_ Tommy's second look of hock lasted for a second; the time it took for Bucky to manage to punch him, once. Blood ran out of his nose and, for a fleeting moment, Bucky allowed himself to believe he may have a change. Then the fist hit him.

Bucky's head spun for a full minute after it hit the floor, and by the time the start had receded from his line of sight the blonde was lying beside him. Tommy was wandering off, laughing with his cronies. As for the rest of the yard, that was returning to usual and the soccer game had restarted.

Sitting up slowly, and absently noting that one of his eyes was tender and his trousers ripped, he turned to look, astounded that both of them were alive, at the first grader beside him. The smaller boy was lying alarmingly still, wheezing badly, worryingly.

'Y'alright?'

'Yeah' _Gasp._ ''m fine. Had him' _Gasp._ 'on the ropes.'

'What were ya thinkin'?'

 _Gasp._ 'If ya' _Wheeze._ 'Don't fight back.' _Pant._ 'Y'all always get.' _Gasp._ 'Stepped on.'

Bucky shook his head at the kid's sheer stubbornness (although he was a little impressed at his determination), but was quickly distracted when air seemed to stop having anything to do with the boy's lungs.

'M-m-m-' He panted.

Bucky was starting to get scared now as red crept up the boy's cheeks, followed quickly by purple.

That made up his mind. 'Help! Help! _Help!_ ' His voice was breaking now with fear, both from the fight he'd just been in and for his new companion- friend maybe's- well-being. He didn't know what to do. _What if he died?_

Now, finally, one of the school ma'ams was in the yard, running towards them with black skirts flying.

'Steve! James- what happened to him?' She half-lifted the boy- Steve- running across the yard again and through the wooden doors into the school building. Bucky ran after her, ignoring a stabbing pain in his leg. By the time he caught up, after peering in a few doorways, he found them. They were sitting in an empty classroom and the blonde was breathing through an odd device, his wheezing _(thank the Lord)_ was beginning to subside.

'Tommy beat him.'

'Steve! What will your mother say?' The boy looked up, his breathing almost normal. 'And on the first day as well.'

Pulling the mask from his face, he spoke up, pleading. 'She's workin' today. Please don' call her. Don't want her to worry.'

'James- lord, ya knee. Right, that does it. James, take Steve home please an' then take yaself home, eh? Back in bright an' early tomorrow.' The woman clearly didn't want a dead asthmatic on the first day of term.

'Sure, Miss. C'mon kid.'

Bucky beckoned the boy to follow him (yay! Day off!). The blonde stood slowly, perhaps a little disappointed in how the first day of school had gone. He looked pained but made to follow nonetheless.

Together they walked down the tiled corridor, which was still blessedly empty due to there being ten minutes left of recess, to the student's entrance. The ma'am let them out in to the sunlight and, in Bucky's mind, freedom.

Allowing his feet to direct him home, he quickly picked up the pace, slowing only when he noticed the red face and slight wheeze of his companion. And that the smaller boy was half jogging to keep up.

'Ya buildin' is that one, isn't it?' Bucky indicated the tenement block next door to his own.

'Bu' my momma's workin' today.' Steve was shifting his feet guiltily, but his expression looked hopeful. Stopping, Bucky considered his options. His own momma was going to be furious with him for fighting, but equally he didn't want to leave the asthmatic on his own. Steve seemed like he could start a fight in an empty room. The kid was clearly an idiot, challenging a boy three times his size, but a brave, honourable one. And he clearly wasn't well.

'D'ya wanna come over mine? My momma don't work at the moment as she's gonna have a baby real soon. I'm sure she'll be fine with ya stayin' till your ma gets home.'

Steve's face seemed to beam, and at that moment Bucky knew that they were going to be great friends. Maybe the kid was alright after all.

'If that's ok. I don't often see other people.'

'Sure. No fightin' on the way home tho'. An' ya still an idiot.'

'Jerk.'

'Seriously? That's how it is?'

'Yeah.'

Squabbling good naturedly, Bucky directed them once more towards his building. By the time they were home, they were best friends and by the time Steve left they had become damn near inseparable and had arranged to walk to school together the next day. It had been a great day, despite Bucky getting grounded by his ma. She seemed to like Steve though.

'See ya tomorrow, punk.'

'Bucky- don't use language like that!'

'Sorry ma.'

'Yeah.' The smaller boy looked down as he stood by the door. 'We are pals, right? Ya not jus' bein' nice.'

'Nah. I wouldn'ta invited ya here or wanna play with ya tomorrow if we weren't pals.'

Looking relieved, Steve waved and started his walk home. Bucky turned and headed back into his apartment, feeling pleased at having made a new friend.

#####

 _Bucky awoke with a start. Why was it so cold? It had been sunny, hadn't it? Then he remembered. And he screamed. 'STEVE!' Stevie?_


End file.
